



imiiiuiiKiii 






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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Zbc ^oon^flDaiben 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 
FRANCES REED GIBSON 




BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH ^ COMPANY 

1913 






Copyright, 1913 
Shermak, French ^ Compaky 



/,<f^ 



©CLA35870S 



To 
/lBl2 /iBotbec 

who in my earliest childhood opened 
wide for me the enchanted gates of Im- 
agination and Fancy, and instilled in 
my heart a ''delyte in minstrelsie," at- 
tuning my childish ears to the heavenly 
harmonies of the divine art of Poetry, 

and to 
/IBs MusbanD 

who has ever held my hand with sympa- 
thetic clasp whenever we have wandered 
together through the " Summerland of Song." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Moon-Maiden 1 

A Sweet Vagrant 5 

A Little Ghost 8 

A Nameless Melody 10 

A June Enchantment 12 

A Purple Month 14 

The Tryst 16 

"One Flew East and One Flew West and 

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" . 18 

Two Days 22 

The Mother Touch 27 

And Yet — 29 

The Haunted Lake of Ellerslie ... 32 

At Eventide 36 

1913-1914 39 



THE MOON-MAIDEN 
A FANTASY 

When the wild west winds have chased 

from the sky 
The guardian clouds of fleecy white, 
The Moon-Maiden slips from her home on 

high 
Down a trembling ladder of radiant light 
Unto the waiting world below; 
And, as with noiseless tread she wanders 
Through garden-close and flower-lined al- 
ley, 
Those who have rightly tuned their ear 
May hear her sweet voice ringing clear, 
Sweet and clear and musically ; — 
Singing, ringing, calling, calling. 
Above the fountain's silver falling, 
" Come follow, follow, 
Into the moonlit fairy hollow ! " 

And the fairy folk who have slept all day 

In the lily's white cup and the hyacinth- 
bell. 

Who have hid from the heat of the noon- 
tide hour 

'Mid the languorous leaves of the poppy 
flower. 

And shrunk from the hot blast's blighting 
breath 

[1] 



The hollyhock's sheltering shade beneath, 

From blossom and bud and leaf as well 

Gaily throng each garden alley, 

When in the midsummer night they hear 

Those beck'ning accents ringing clear, 

Sweet and clear and musically — 

Singing, ringing, calling, calling. 

Above the fountain's silver falling. 

And fast they follow 

Into the moonlit fairy hollow, 

Where in robes of rainbow sheen 
Titania sits on her throne in state ; 
And guarding her well from evil spell 
Her loving courtiers near her wait. 
Though Oberon stands aloof, with gaze 
Askance on the fairy court, the while 
Puck whispers to him, wearing a smile 
Half of sport and half of malice, 
Leaning out of the glistening chalice 
Of a yellow lily that lights with a gleam 
Of gold the shore of the murmuring stream 
That sings itself most rhythmically 
In and out of the fairy valley. 

From the wimpling wave to the moss- 
draped rocks 
A naiad creeps with dripping locks, 
And a dryad steals from the old oak tree 
To gaze on the fairy revelry. 
[2] 



Drops oi rippling melody 
From over the distant hills are borne, 
Distinct and sweet and thin and clear 
Like the farewell note of an echoing horn 
Or the first faint tinkling tones of a lute ; 
Fuller and fuller, clearer and clearer, 
Slowly swelling, nearer and nearer, 
They float, till bursts on the ravished ear 
The magic strains of Pan's oaten flute. 

No longer the eager elfin throng 

Can brook delay of their promised pleasure. 

Madly, with shout and joyous song. 

The fairy feet stamp out each measure ; 

Now bounding high, now bending low. 

Blithely they circle to and fro. 

Round and round and in and out 

While the Moon-Maiden leads the fairy 

rout, 
And fleet as the flight of the skimming 

swallow 
Speed the hours in the fairy hollow. 

Oh, many an hour of mortal joy 

'Tis worth this fairy fete to see. 

But only to those is it given to look 

On such scenes of elfin gayety 

Who, through the years, have kept un- 

dimmed 
The faiths of childhood, sweet and dear, 
[3] 



And still, in the song of the forest brook, 
A naiad's whispering voice can hear; 
Who, threading the boskage at early 

dawn 
When subtly stirs the hazel bough 
With heavy fruitage bending low, 
Can see the pointed ears of a faun 
Silently stealing the thicket through; 
Or, slowly walking a winding way. 
When athwart an old oak tree 
Falls the sun's last slanting ray. 
Can glimpse an oread wrapped in gray, 
Dimly flitting to and fro 
Amid the twilight mystery 
Of vine and moss and mistletoe. 

To such as these is given the sight. 
In the garden-close on a midsummer night. 
Of the Moon-Maiden roaming each flower- 
lined alley; 
And unto these only is given to hear 
(If they have rightly tuned their ear) 
Her silver accents ringing clear, 
Sweet and clear and musically, 
Singing, ringing, calling, calling. 
Above the fountain's fitful falling. 
And they may follow 
Into the moonlit fairy hollow. 



[4] 



A SWEET VAGRANT 

The author of "Old English Gardens" records that 
" Bouncing Bet," a sweet garden-escape, bearing pale 
pink flowers with a faint delicious fragrance, that is 
found blooming in shy beauty upon old country roads in 
the United States, was once a cherished plant in the 
English gardens of long ago. 

Brightening this lonely hill-side road, far from 

the city's fevered fret, 
You bloom beside a lichened wall, sweet, vagrant 

Bouncing Bet ! 

And from your lips of sea-shell tint there comes 

a fragrant sigh to me, 
Like some faint odor from the past. With 

subtle witchery, 

It bears me backward through the years, into 

dim days of old romance 
When gallant lords, for ladies fair, wielded a 

knightly lance. 

I see the garden quaint and prim, where long 
years since you bloomed beside 

Tall, nodding lilies, saintly white, that were the 
gardener's pride. 

There myrtle vines about your feet in blue- 
starred nettings softly crept. 

And fox-gloves swung their purple bells to wake 
you when you slept. 

[5] 



Musk roses wove a crimson bower; and scarlet 

poppies climbed to see 
Your pink cheeks flush when wooing came the 

golden-crested bee. 

Pale asphodel and columbine, sweet lavender and 

mignonette, 
Your comrades were in that far time, poor, 

wandering Bouncing Bet! 

Why did you leave those dear delights, the lark's 

sweet call at early morn. 
And, echoing down far mountain heights, the 

distant bugle horn ; 

The fountain plashing in the night, the silver 

note of flageolet 
And violin, as stately dames trod a slow minuet? 

Was it some elfish prank you played that ban- 
ished you from that loved spot? 

A secret to the winds betrayed of the forget-me- 
not? 

A prying of too curious eyes on loitering lovers 

as they paced 
Through cool, dim aisles, where overhead the 

green boughs interlaced? 



[6] 



Or did you, of your own sweet will, fare forth, 

filled with a wild unrest, 
Wearied of cloistered happiness, searching with 

childish zest. 

For that dim forest old and hoar, of which the 

wandering bee had sung 
When to your honey-laden lips in ecstasy he 

clung, 

Seeking in vain the secret dells where fairies 
dance the night away 

And sleep in swinging blue hare-bells through- 
out the summer day. 

Till lost amid the world's wide ways, wearied 

and heart-sick, sore afraid, 
Beneath this elm tree's drooping boughs your 

tired steps were stayed? 

I hear no murmur from your lips, you do not 

answer when I speak, 
And yet methinks a happy smile flushes your 

pale pink cheek. 

Because you know, dear, tender flower, your 
fragrant blooms with magic art 

Unto a restful vision-land hath borne a tired 
heart. 



[7] 



A LITTLE GHOST 

When maple trees flaunt ruddy blooms, 

And 'mid their boughs blithe robins sing, 
When willow-catkins fringe the brooks 

Through daisied meadows murmuring, 
And from dim, grassy, sheltered nooks 
Shy violets peep with startled looks. 
From some forgotten yesterday 
A little ghost steals up this way. 

From under wind-blown locks, her eyes 
Are wells of deep and pure delight, 
As unto her entranced sight 

Unfold Spring's budding mysteries. 

She clasps within her eager hold 

Spring's richest treasures manifold; 

Pink apple buds that vainly seek 
To match the blushes on her cheek; 
Wild-cherry blooms of driven snow. 
No whiter than her childish brow; 
And with such rapture she looks down 
On violets pressed against her breast, 
A purple shadow seems to rest 
Within her shining eyes of brown. 

She trails a bough of dog-wood bloom, 

A wild bee follows after. 
While blue-birds lend their liquid notes 

Unto her silver laughter: 

[8] 



Unnumbered wild flowers spring to meet 
The coming of her childish feet, 
And as she dances on her way 

She casts a wistful glance at me ; 
With pleading eyes, she seems to say, 

" Oh, weary one, come back and be 
A child again, and with me play 
In my fair land of Yesterday ! " 

Oh, little ghost with pleading eyes, 
I may not pass the flaming sword 
That guardeth my lost Paradise, 

But in some glorious afterward, 
Within some fairer clime, may I 
Regain that Heavenly ecstasy 
Of trusting faith and rapturous joy 
That once my happy childhood knew 
When you were me and I was you. 



[9] 



A NAMELESS MELODY 

Through dim recesses of my brain 
A haunting tune glides to and fro, 
But when my eager lips would fain 
Give to the world its rhythmic flow, 
The elusive notes far from me glide 
In memory's secret haunts to hide. 

I know not where, in long-past days, 
The mystic measure charmed mine ear. 
But with it linked are tender thoughts 
Of many a happy bygone year. 
When love was 3^oung and hope was bright, 
And youth's sky glowed with rainbow light. 

When weary hours of midnight pain 
We brave alone, my heart and I, 
From some far realm of song it floats, 
This sweet, soul-soothing melody. 
And with its silver notes once more 
Throng hallowed memories of yore. 

A sister's kiss, a brother's smile, 
A father's true and fond caress, 
A mother's gaze that holds for me 
A wealth of loving tenderness, 
Are mine again, brought back to me 
By this sweet wraith of minstrelsy. 

[10] 



Oh, sweet and wondrous power of song, 
That thus the phantom of a tune 
Can bridge the gulf of years and make 
Life's dull December glow like June, 
Before whose sunshine disappear 
The blighting clouds of doubt and fear. 

A butterfly's most gorgeous hues 
Will fade when crushed by childish clasp, 
And so, sweet sprite of song, I strive 
No more thy far, vague notes to grasp. 
Lest with the touch of human lips 
The magic sweetness from them slips. 
And it returns no more to bless 
My weary, waiting loneliness. 



[11] 



A JUNE ENCHANTMENT 

"There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young 
dream." 

A MAGICAL song sings elfin June, 

Roaming at eve the forest aisles, 
Stealing the nightingale's tender tune. 

Warily weaving, with wizard wiles. 
Fairy webs of silver light 

To snare the souls of love-vexed swains 
Till they yield to the charm of the summer night 

And the lingering notes of her mystic strains. 

Lured by the breath of an odorous sigh 

From the swaying branch of a briar-rose 
That she waves in her hand as she wanders by. 

With pink leaves marking the way that she 
goes. 
They follow with unresisting feet 

Into a far, enchanted land. 
Where a musical voice rings clear and sweet 

And warm is the clasp of a well-loved hand. 

Where, 'neath skies that are lit with a heavenly 
glow, 
Dear eyes (the sweetest they ever knew) 
Look back the love their fond eyes show. 

Where lovers are constant and friends are 
true, 

[la] 



Where wealth comes quickly at love's behest, 

And never omens of sorrow cloud 
The hopes that spring in the youthful breast 

(For all unseen is the misty shroud 
The future is weaving for love's bright dream), 

And their fond vows, whispered o'er and o'er, 
Freight shallops to float down memory's stream 

As it softly flows by that fairy shore. 

Oh ! June, dear June, these were blest indeed. 

If, like the children of Hamelin town. 
Following still where your sweet notes lead, 

They never returned for the world's cold 
frown 
To chill the warmth of their fresh, young hearts. 

But all too soon the enchantment fades, 
The roses wither, the spell departs. 

As the far notes faint 'mid the gathering 
shades ; 

And never that sweet, bewildering strain 

Shall entrance their ears, or their longing 
eyes 
Beam in that heavenly glow again. 

This side the portals of Paradise. 
And when chillingly fall life's winter snows. 

They will longingly dream of a vanished June, 
And wearily sigh for the scent of the rose 

And the far, faint sound of that mystic tune. 

[13] 



A PURPLE MONTH 

Oh, May's the month of snowy bloom, 

And June of silver moonlight. 
July and August poppies throw 
O'er gardens old a crimson glow. 
September's amber noonlight 
Sleeps, when the lengthening shadows play 
In rocky pastures far away. 
Cradled in wreaths of golden-rod 
That softly sway and gently nod 
In measure to the faint sheep-bells 
That tinkle down the stony dells. 

But when October, dewy-eyed, 

Like some pure, pensive maiden. 
Glides o'er the hills of amethyst 
Wrapped in a veil of silver mist — 
No fairer thing was e'er, I wis. 
Wooed by the late year's lingering kiss 

Or fanned by winds leaf-laden. 
O'er wild grapes in the forest glade 
She softly throws a purple shade; 
While feathery asters, far and wide. 
On sunny slope of mountain side. 
From dusky dell and beetling crag 
Fling forth her Tyrian-tinted flag. 



[14] 



All day, on valley, hill and stream, 

Her tender smile is resting ; 
A Sabbath peace broods over all, 
And softly, at the wind's low call 
To weave the grasses' funeral pall, 
All silently the brown leaves fall. 
But sorrowing hearts forget their grief 
For fading field and falling leaf 

What time the sun is breasting 
The night's dark wave with pennant red. 
And slowly, o'er the west is spread, 
A quivering amaranthine haze 
That melts to violet 'neath the gaze 
And dimly veils, to Faith's fond eyes. 

The jasper walls of Paradise. 



[15] 



THE TRYST 

With priestly prayer they had laid her to rest 
(Her still hands folded across her breast) 

Beneath yew-trees old and gray. 
And the bridegroom a lonely vigil kept 
With sob and with tear, for the bride who slept 

In the churchyard far away. 

Without, the snows fell thick and fast, 
But he heeded not the moaning blast 

That tore at the lattice-bar, 
For his soul still heard a muffled bell 
Tolling, tolling a funeral knell, 

Echoing near and far. 

On that last sad night, when she lay on her bier, 
(Tapers burning at foot and at head) 

" Not even death can part us, dear," 
Bending low, in her ear he said, 
" You zdll come back to me from the dead ; 

I shall watch and wait for you here." 

So between the dying of the night 

And the dawning of the day, 
Over a path of pale moonlight 

That on the dusk floor lay, 
Softly unto his side she stole. 

And murmured in his ear 
The old, familiar, loving words — 

How could he fail to hear.^^ 
[16] 



But when on his brow her hand she laid, 

He shivered and only said, 
" Chill comes the air through the parted sash " ; 

And with weary turn of the head, 
When she whispered her pleading words of love. 

He murmured, 'mid falling tears, 
" The wind sobs tonight like a grieved child " — - 

So dull are human ears. 

But the faithful hound, crouching low by his 
side. 

She had loved in the days agone. 
As the moonlight faded from off the floor, 

Arose with a long, low moan. 
And with one swift bound to the lattice-sill. 

Gazed, with a wistful eye. 
At a white snow wraith that a swirling wind 

Was swiftly hurrying by. 
As a lone cock crew, and the gray dawn broke 

Afar in the eastern sky. 



[17] 



" ONE FLEW EAST AND ONE FLEW 

WEST AND ONE FLEW OVER THE 

CUCKOO'S NEST " 

They sit 'neath the shade of the beechen tree 
Three little maidens fair to see — 
Alice and Belle and Marjorie. 

Alice, with eyes of heaven's own blue; 

Belle, with tresses of sunset hue; 

While Marjorie's white soul shineth through 

Luminous, tender, soft brown eyes 
That seem to waken in grave surprise 
From a dream of heavenly melodies. 

She brings my lost youth back again 
As her sweet lips murmur a simple strain 
Of an olden game the slow refrain. 

She utters each word with a childish zest, 
" One-flew-east-and one-flew-west- 
And-one-flew-over-the-cuckoo's-nest." 

And as she counts the fingers small 

On her lap outspread, with grave looks, all 

Watch where the fateful word will fall. 

So happy are they in their childish glee, 
They heed not that, softly and silently, 
I steal to the shade of the beechen tree. 

£18] 



The robin alone, in the branches high, 
Notes my tread with a wary eye, 
And trills to his mate a warning cry. 

The western skies grow all aflame, 

But still, the sweet lips murmur the same 

Slow words of the old, familiar game. 

And as they are borne to my listening ears, 

I brush away the mist of tears 

That curtains the vista of vanished years. 

I see not Alice, blue-eyed and fair, 
Nor Baby Belle's soft golden hair, 
Nor Marjorie with her saintly air. 

For I look, with introverted gaze, 
Down the sunny slopes and flow'ry ways 
My small feet trod in childhood's days. 

Instead of the spreading beech, I see 
A friendly, gnarled old cherry tree. 
On whose bended trunk sit lovingly 

Three little sisters, blithe and gay. 
Who while the summer hours away 
With the lingering words of a childish play. 



[19] 



And a voice that has long been hushed to rest 
Chants " One-flew-east-and one-flew-west- 
And-one-flew-over-the-cuckoo's-nest." 

I can feel the vagrant winds that blow 

The drooping branches to and fro, 

And breathe the breath of the fragrant snow 

Of blossoms, whose beauty fair and fleet 
Falls in a white drift at my feet, 
While overhead I hear the sweet. 

Wild notes of the bluebird, flitting by 
Like a bit of feathery azure sky 
Floating down to show us heaven is nigh. 

Too long I dream — when again mine eyes 
Turn outward, dull are the western skies. 
And all the valley in shadow lies. 

I look in vain for the children three 

Who sat 'neath the shade of the beechen tree, 

Piping their childish melody. 

For blue-eyed Alice, and Baby Belle, 

And saintly Marjorie as well. 

Have hied away from the darkening dell 



[20] 



To the dear home-nest, whose beckoning light 

Drives away the vague affright 

That comes with the gathering shades of night. 

And the sweet small maidens who sate at play 
'Neath the cherry-tree blooms that fair June 

day 
So long ago ah, where are they? 

Oh, one, with a steadfast heart and brave, 
Fulfills the promise her sweet youth gave 
Of a noble life, where Atlantic's wave 

Against the shores of her Eastern home 

Dashes its billows of angry foam. 

And far from its thundering surges roam 

The feet of one, where full and free 
The fair, swift-flowing Tennessee 
To the golden West glides joyfully. 

And one — oh, purest and loveliest, 
Flew long ago to a home of rest, 
Far, far beyond the cuckoo's nest. 



[21] 



TWO DAYS 

In memory of Margaret Fuller Ossoli. Born May 23, 
1810. Drowned oflF the coast of Long Island, July 19, 
1850. 

Read before the members of the Ossoli Circle of Knox- 
ville, Tennessee, on the anniversary of Margaret Fuller's 
birth.* 

May's lingering apple blooms had blown 

Almost into June's rose-wreathed bowers; 
Along the graveled dooryard paths 

The locusts dropped their snowy flowers; 
Swinging amid the branches high, 

Their tuneful songs the robins trilled, 
Fraught with such joyous ecstasy 

That all the air with gladness thrilled; 
While from far meadows, daisy-starred, 

Blithe bobolinks piped back reply. 
Drowning the bee's remonstrant hum 

In drowsy circles wheeling by 
From rosy-crested clover seas 

That surged beside the winding lanes 

* The barque Elizabeth, in which Margaret Fuller Os- 
soli took passage from Florence to New York, was 
wrecked on Fire Island oflF the coast of Long Island. 
The fate of the vessel was precipitated and sealed by the 
breaking through the hold of the heavy marble of 
Power's " Greek Slave," which the Elizabeth was trans- 
porting to America. One of the pathetic incidents re- 
lated by the sole female survivor of the wreck is that 
Madame Ossoli, as brave in death as in life, quieted the 
frenzied shrieks of her frightened child by singing it 
to sleep cradled upon her bosom. 

[22] 



Whose elm tree arches echoed back 

The happv blackbird's sweet refrains. 
So, with the breath of violets, borne 

On soft south winds, and rapturous lay 
Of glad birds, singing as they soared. 

Was ushered in the fair spring day 
When opened first to earthly light 

Those dark gray eyes, whose radiant rays 
In after years a beacon fire 
Kindled on Learning's rugged height, 

Burning with pure and steadfast glow 
To guide to higher planes of thought 

The trembling sister feet that long 
Through darksome paths the goal had sought. 

O vanguard soul, that dared to brave 

The sneer of scorn, the smile of doubt. 
Still burns on that far height you gained 

That vestal flame. Its rays stream out 
Into these later years, and flash 

A message to us from the past 
Of brave endeavors, high resolves 

Crowned with a victor's bays at last. 

O eyes ablaze with genius' fire, 
How deeply tender did you grow 

When bending o'er the couch of pain 
Where Tiber's turbid torrents flow 

Down to Italia's sun-kissed sea. 

Till 'neath their lids with warm tears wet 
[23] 



The purple shadow seemed to lie 

Of your New England violet. 
O voice that thrilled with Learning's zeal, 

To such sweet cadences you fell, 
Your tuneful robin's liquid notes 

Seemed in their silver depths to dwell, 
As breathing words of hope and trust. 

They blended with the latest sigh 
Of those brave patriot sons who died 

For Italy and Liberty. 



From sullen seas a July sun 

Rose o'er Long Island's sand-barred shore; 
No songbird's notes rang sweet and clear. 

Only the breaker's long, dull roar. 
And wind's wild wail sounded above 

The cry of sea-mews hurrying by — 
A wavering, swift, sharp line of white. 

Cleaving a black and angry sky. 
No clover billows rose and fell; 

For bloom there shone the white foam wreath 
That gnawed the doomed ship's wounded side 

As some grim monster's cruel teeth 
Widen the wounds its fangs have made 

In the poor victim's quivering form. 
The voices of Despair and Death 
Shrieked in the fury of the storm. 

Still 'mid the crash of shivering spars 



[24] 



That sweet voice softly lulled to rest, 

The little babe that sunk to sleep, 
Pillowed upon its mother's breast. 

Loudly the hungry, clamoring waves 
Called for their prey, but still unmoved 

Those gray eyes shone, did they not hold 
Within their gaze their best beloved, 

Husband and child? Did they not see 
Beyond the bar a heavenly shore 

Whose beckoning palm trees promised rest 
From grief and pain forevermore? 

Two days — one rose with sunshine crowned, 

But bore the soul that woke to life 
'Mid breath of flowers and song of birds. 

Into a world of pain and strife; 
And one that dawned 'mid tempest-clouds 

Carried on its tumultuous tide 
The tired soul to that fair land 

Where bloom the living streams beside. 
The lilies of eternal peace; 

And angel voices, soft and clear. 
Ring sweeter far than sweetest song 

That ever greeted mortal ear. 

O heart that sufl^ered, soul that dared. 
And in the suff^ering, daring, won — 

Unblinded by the dazzling light — 
Your eagle aim to reach the sun, 

[25] 



Be graven in our hearts to-day 

The ennobling lesson of your life : 
A scorn of base, ignoble aims, 

Of cankering envy, and the strife 
Of petty souls who seek to build 

Upon another's loss their gain; 
An earnest seeking after truth 

Unsullied by doubt's marring stain ; 
Brave strivings towards a high ideal 

Until we reach that purer air 
You breathed, and prove ourselves to be 

Worthy the honored name we bear ! 



[26] 



THE MOTHER TOUCH 

Bloom of the violet, breath of the rose, 

Beam of the moon on a summer sea, 
Strain of a long-forgotten song. 

Beauty and fragrance and melody. 
Memory's handmaidens, oh, to-night, 

Bring some balm from the long ago 
For a bruised heart, till a healing flood 

From my tearless eyelids at last shall flow. 

Oh, violet, blue as the laughing eyes 

That looked into mine in the morning glow 

Of life, like pastures of Paradise, 

Are the April meadows you lead us through, 

Two happy children, weaving together 

Your scented blooms in the fair spring 
weather. 

And red, red rose, your breath of musk 

Folds me close in the fond embrace 
Of the friend of my youth, as through the dusk 

The path of your sweetness we idly trace; 
And moon, that silvers yon summer sea, 

Down your pathway of light once more I float. 
And a tender voice breathes low in my ear. 

While Love plies the oars of the fairy boat. 



[27] 



But playmate, and friend, and lover, in vain 

Beckon from out the misty past. 
Tearless I gaze on the shadowy train. 

Ghosts of a youth too bright to last. 

But a tremulous tune comes floating down 

Through the night, by some wandering wind 
beguiled. 

And the long-pent grief of a breaking heart 
Bursts forth in tears when I hear the wild, 

Sweet, quavering air my mother sang 

As she rocked me to sleep, a sinless child. 



[28] 



AND YET— ^ 

A SEPTEMBER MEMORY 

Oh, do you not remember 
In that golden-hued September 

Long ago, 
How we sat beneath the shadow 
Of the gnarled oak in the meadow, 
With the young moon rising o'er us, 
And the river close before us 
Murmuring a tender chorus 

Minor-keyed and low? 
In the soft September moonlight, 
Shining clear as winter noonlight. 

Vale and stream 
And the far-off hills eternal 
Glowed with that light supernal 

Seen only in Love's dream. 
The subtle south-wind's moaning 
And the waves' low undertoning 

To us brought 
Of the future no sad presage — 
Only with Love's heavenly message 

Breeze and stream seemed fraught. 

Still the restless river rushes. 
With its fitful sobs and hushes. 

Through the reeds along the shore; 
And the young moon, fair and tender. 
Showers forth the same soft splendor. 
[29] 



But where, across the meadow, 
Falls the old oak's shifting shadow 

You and I will nevermore 
Sit hand in hand together 
In the fair September weather, 

Heart to heart, 
Breathing each the same sweet story ; 
For the love that lent the glory 
To valley, hill, and river. 
Lies cold and still forever. 

Slain by the cruel dart 
Of a fickle woman's scorning. 
Vain is memory's fond endeavor. 
The wildest pleading never 

Can wring its lips apart. 

And yet — as I remember 

That long-past sweet September, 

From the ashes of Love's ember 

Arises once again. 
To mock me in my sadness. 
The ghost of that dead madness 
With its thrill of youthful gladness 

And its passionate, sweet pain. 
Till my heart would give its measure 
Of all future joy and pleasure 

Once more the bliss to know 
Of those hours beneath the shadow 
Of the old oak in the meadow, 

[SO] 



With the young moon rising o^er us 
And the river close before us, 
Murmuring a fitful chorus, 
]\Iinor-keyed and low. 



[31] 



THE HAUNTED LAKE OF ELLERSLIE 

A RIVEN pine tree guards its shores, 
And sullen and silent its waters lie, 
But at night the traveler passing by 
Hears the plash of dipping oars, 
Though never oarsman or boat can he see. 
Rippling the waters of Ellerslie 
As they darkly gleam at the midnight hour 
In the gruesome shade of the old church tower. 

When the moon's pale beams no longer shine 
'Midst the murky clouds, the boding cry 
Of an owl is heard in the branches high 
Of the lonely, lightning-riven pine, 
Till the belfry-bat in its circling flight 
Pauses, then veers in wild affright 
Back to its home 'neath the rotting stair 
That leads to the crumbling belfry, where 
No foot has trodden for many a year; 
And the traveler trembles in deadly fear 
When he hears the bell in the dark tower toll 
A knell as if speeding a passing soul, 
And with palsied limbs he strives to flee 
From the ghostly presence he cannot see 
That haunts the dark lake of Ellerslie. 

And he thinks in his fear of the eerie tale 
Told by old dames in a dim firelight: 
How long years since on a Michaelmas night, 

Proud Lady Ellen of far Kirkedale 
[3£] 



stole from her home with mind distraught, 
Crazed by a love she had given unsought — 
Given unsought, and all in vain, 
For the lord of Ellerslie's wide domain. 
Over moorland and fen, through blinding brake, 
She fled, 'till she reached the dismal lake 
That gleamed in a dying moon's pale light 
Like a baleful jewel on Ellerslie's height. 
She unfastened the skifF that for many a day 
Had lain at the foot of the riven tree 
That guards those waters of mystery, 
And over their surface pursued her way. 
With short, swift strokes that echoed wide 
And far o'er the lonely country side. 
With frenzied fingers the oars she plied 
Till she moored her boat at the midnight hour 
'Neath the ghostly shade of the old church- 
tower 
That leans over Ellerslie's fathomless tide. 

Up, up the winding stair she sped. 

And as on the moldering wood she stepped. 
From beneath her tread there slowly crept, 
Then in swift dismay from her presence fled, 
The noisome things that hide alway 
Where ruins crumble in slow decay. 
From the riven pine, in its branches high, 
An owl sent forth a boding cry ; 
In her face, the tattered ivy that clung 
To the broken walls, its fingers flung; 
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The lizard looked out from its leafy lair; 
And a bat flew forth from the creaking stair, 
To tangle itself in her silken hair. 

Yet all undaunted and unafraid, 

Still upward sped the witless maid 

Till she came where the bell rope dangling hung. 

Then over the sleeping valley she flung 

An echoing peal from the deep-toned bell. 

Crying, " List ! I am ringing my funeral knell 1 " 

She climbed to the tottering parapet. 

Her raven locks with the night dews wet, 

Then sprang to the beckoning waves below ; 

And only the water-kelpies know 

How many fathoms low she sleeps. 

All unshriven in Ellerslie's deeps. 

And when the circling year rolls round 

And in its train comes Michaelmas night. 
And the far moon faints on Ellerslie's height. 
To the valley below is borne the sound 
Of swift oar-strokes on the haunted lake. 
Till the cottagers, startled from dreams, awake. 
And shudder and shiver and swiftly make 
The sign of the cross as they whisper, " Hark ! 
Lady Ellen is rowing her ghostly bark 
Over Ellerslie's waters, deep and dark." 
And when they hear, at the midnight hour. 
The distant bell in the dark church tower 

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A funeral knell in deep notes toll, 

" God rest Lady Ellen's unshriven soul," 

In awe-hushed tones they softly say : 

" And pity and save, dear Lord," they pray, 

" All those who wander this Michaelmas night 

Alone on Ellerslie's distant height." 



[35] 



AT EVENTIDE 

AN APPRECIATION 

It seems but yesternoon, dear Heart, though 'tis 
long, long years ago. 

That together we watched from the mountain- 
top the clouds in the valley below 

Like phantom-ships with shadowy sails, drift 
idly to and fro. 

'Twas a weary path we had traversed to reach 
that sun-crowned, wind-swept height, 

But your foot never faltered, and ever your eye 
beamed with the fearless light 

That dwells in the eagle's piercing glance as 
sunward he wings his flight. 

O'er dark abysm, by beetling crag, the rugged 

road oft led. 
Yet blithely still, with song and smile, clasping 

my hand, you sped 
Ever upward and onward, and when dark clouds 

the summer heavens o'erspread. 

Your cheerful glance could still discern, glim- 
mering softly through 

A narrow rift in the threatening clouds, a slen- 
der strip of blue. 

That a promise held of fairer skies in its tender 
azure hue. 

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When, turning backward, I longingly gazed on 

the meadows fair and low, 
Where we first joined hands for the onward 

march in the morning's sunny glow. 
You said, " Grieve not, there are fairer fields 

where balmier breezes blow, 

" In daisied vales on the other side of the moun- 
tain's purple crest. 

There, sweet are the airs as those that blow from 
' Araby the blest.' 

And tender and soft is the note, at eve, of the 
fond dove in her nest." 

So slowly, carefully down we passed o'er the 

winding mountain trail. 
As one by one each threatening cloud close 

furled its silver sail. 
And ere we knew, our wandering feet had 

reached this sheltered vale, 

Where, dim as the sound of a distant bell, comes 

faintly to our ears 
The fret of the busy world, and through the 

mists of sorrowful years. 
The joys that brightened the dark hours shine 

like a rainbow seen through tears. 



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Should we grieve because they have slipped from 
our grasp, the violets pure and sweet 

That we treasured at morn; or the roses rare, 
plucked in the noonday heat, 

Wlien the healing herbs of Autumn shed their 
fragrance about our feet? 

And should we mourn that the rainbow lights of 

morn in our eyes have died, 
Or sigh for the noontide's radiant rays, when we 

wander side by side 
In the peaceful calm and the golden glow of the 

Autumn eventide? 

Oh, the years have come and the years have gone, 

with many a smile and tear. 
But if dark or bright the devious path, ever 

your heart of cheer 
Hath brightened our joys and lightened our 

griefs and bravely smiled away fear. 

And I lift my eyes in praise and thanks to a 
loving Father in heaven 

For his precious gift of the hopeful heart that 
its sunshine freely has given 

Alike in the morning's sunny glow and the gath- 
ering shades of even. 



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191 3-1 91 4f 

Outlined against, the ebon clouds 

In sinuous lines of shimmering white, 
The far-ofF, snow-clad mountains send 
Their greeting to the solemn night. 
Their pallid lips take up the notes 

That through the sleeping valley swell, 
And murmur to the starless sky 
The requiem that the midnight bell 
Tolls for the dead year. 

To and fro 
Across the snow. 
Deep-toned and slow, 
The mournful measures ebb and flow. 

But unseen fingers rend apart 

The pall of clouds, and through the rifts, 
With the sweet look of one who smiles 

'Midst pain, the moon her wan face lifts. 
And faintly silvers each cold height; 

With quicker strokes the midnight bell 
Peals forth in tones of wild delight, 
And dim peaks brighten 
As they hear 
Ring fai and near, 
Swift, sweet and clear. 
The promise of the new-born year. 



[39] 



DEC 15 1913 



